


Oh, Yuletide Goat, For Hooves Brightly Shining

by fresne



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Cat1, Complete crack, Gen, Podfic, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time a new fan is born, a plot bunny gets its wings, which is unnatural and leads to crossovers. So, remember, what happens on the internet stays on the internet.</p><p>Or what happens when Ichabod complains about Christmas in the modern era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hllangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hllangel/gifts).



This "modern" era, and how any era dared to call itself modern when it too would soon be passed into the dustbin of history, had taken the simple festival of Christmas and turned it into a veritable assault on the senses. Ichabod could not venture down the street, but that a cacophony that dared to call itself music blared from speakers at the herd-like crowds buying endless tides of gifts as if to fill some hole in their very souls. Every light post and sign was now festooned with either white lights or even worse a wild array of colour that twinkled and strobed enough to give a healthy man fits. There were wire representations of snowflakes and simulacrums of snow men, as if any who endured winter required some facile reminder that this was a winter festival.

Worst yet were the Santa Clauses in their scarlet and ermine lined velvet robes as if by their very dress they were an endorsement of both the luxury of court and the red coats of the Hessians.

It was a travesty. In the tales of Ichabod's childhood, Saint Nicholas had been a humble man of the people clad in simple homespun of green and brown. Bestowing gifts upon the worthy and poor.

"A lot of those Santas are collecting for charity," said Abbie in some pallid excuse for her era.

"It is a war on the senses and all sensible people," said Ichabod, because he would not give way to this point. He must draw the line somewhere and this was his line. Even their sanctum for understanding mystery was not free of the weight of good cheer. Abbie had strung lights from the walls and there was a small tree decorated in gaudy silver floss and bright baubles at one corner of the room and he was certainly not going to be the one to clean up the pine needles currently scattering about the floor.

Abbie shrugged. "I blame Dickens. This is all his fault. People read what happened to Scrooge and they worry they'll be visited by ghosts."

Jenny paused in selecting the next knife for sharpening and muttered, "Some people could stand to get a visit from the ghost of the Christmas past when they ditched their sister."

Abbie determinedly turned a page. "I said I was sorry and I meant it."

Captain Irving, who was typing upon his laptop, which far from sitting upon his lap sat upon the desk. "I was going to blame Coca Cola." He eyed Ichabod. "You're British. You must know Shakespeare."

"Not personally." Ichabod felt as if his blood had been entirely exchanged for vinegar. He could not seem to convey to any of them what century he had been born in. "He was rather before my time."

Captain Irving waved that off. "I'm writing an AU of 'As You Like It' with Rosamund and Celia living as lesbians in Belle Époque Paris. A sort of fusion with Mulan Rouge, but I'm stuck for what to do after they meet drunk Tinkerbell after drinking Absinthe."

"The mind baffles at your reasoning for doing such a thing and what any of that meant," declaimed Ichabod, whilst Abbie, the traitor, muttered, "It's supposed to be a secret exchange."

Captain Irving closed his computer with no regard for the loss of words he might suffer if that pernicious device might choose to arbitrarily throw them away. "This is my favourite time of year. Not just because of Macey," and Ichabod winced at the reminder that Captain Irving had a child, whom circumstances forced from him in a damp dew drop of a comparison to his own bitter loss. "For the last six years, I've been participating in a fiction exchange called Yuletide."

Abbie turned a page in the grimoire that she was currently studying. She muttered, "Not supposed to discuss the fiction. What happens on the internet, stays on the internet."

Jenny kept sharpening and muttered something about Bears eating her toes.

Ichabod said with sharp cut enunciation, "And pray tell, what is this yuletide?"

An excited smile spread across Captain Irving's face. "Every year, you sign up and say that you can write about a number of different fandoms, and that you'd like a story in one of four other fandoms. Actually, they just added two, but for years it was four."

"Ah," said Ichabod in a tone meant to indicate the opposite of comprehension.

"Then they match you up with a request, and you get an assignment for a story to write, while someone is matched with your request. The stories are posted anonymously on Christmas." Captain Irving spread his hands.

Ichabod's mind was alight with questions, but he began with the simplest. "What is a fandom? I take it that it has something to do with Shakespeare, with whose writings I am familiar, but I remind you that I am not old enough to know personally." It sometimes rankled the lack of knowledge that was displayed towards history.

Captain Irving tilted his head. "Not exactly. A fandom could be anything. Yuletide only allows requests for small fandoms with not that many stories already. So, no Harry Potter or Merlin, and that means nothing to you."

Ichabod smiled thinly. "I have heard of Merlin."

But contrary wise the Captain said, "Not this Merlin. I'll have to show you. The show was made of crack, and Queen Gwen was black." Captain Irving borrowed a far away look, but then continued, "A fandom could be Shakespeare or fairy tales or that Guinness commercial with the dancing guy. Last few years there have been extra challenges like the Misses Clause to promote women centric stories or Dark Agenda for stories that are not as chromatically challenged as others. I always try to pick fandoms with characters of color." He bumped his fist against Abbie's, saying, "Represent."

Jenny paused in where she was sharpening a wicked looking curved blade. "Don't forget the Bechdel Test. It's not enough to have a token wandering around."

"What? You are not a fan," said Captain Irving. His tone was exceedingly disbelieving.

Jenny poured more oil upon her whetstone. "Whatever. Idris Elba is free to cancel my apocalypse anytime. And in answer to the question that my sister didn't ask, the Bechdel Test is when two women talk to each other in a story about something other than a man. In Sweden, it's the law."

"I didn't ask, because I already knew what it is. And it is not the law in Sweden." Abbie put a receipt in the grimoire to mark her place and went to stand next to her sister. "It isn't."

"What do you care," said Jenny. "Bears ate me story. I've been stuck at 700 words for weeks. Now I'm going to have to default."

"Don't worry about the bears." Jenny put her hand on her sister's shoulder. "I'll be your hippo. Just talk to me."

Ichabod began to see the pattern behind all of their speech. "So, in this free exchange of stories, you may receive a story on any subject provided it is one that is ill serviced by the public, and in fact may promote poorly represented segments of the population. By the action of writing and requesting rendering an increase of equality in the world." He paused trying to imagine the size of the board where such stories might be tacked up for such an exchange. "Are there many who participate?"

"Thousands." Abbie said, still comforting her sister.

Ichabod mentally revised the size of the board. "How is it possible to exchange these stories without being seen?"

Jenny rolled her eyes. "The internet. They use computers." Which by now was a standard response to most of his questions.

Ichabod's lips curled at this reminder of his nemesis, that unholy simulacrum on consciousness, the computer. Still he must stay focused on Captain Irving's narrative. "So, you exchange stories purely for the joy of granting them in eternal secrecy."

Captain Irving shrugged, "And the comments,"

"Kudos," said Jenny.

"Recs posts," said Abbie, who sighed. "I never write the story that wins Yuletide."

Captain Irving tapped the top of his computer. "There's a special something about writing something where you've hopefully figured out the other person enough to write them a story that they'd like to get. Pure detective work. No matter how their holiday season is going, they'll get one thing that they asked for." Then he obtained a foxlike grin. "Or more than one. Even with all the headless horsemen running around, I've had time to write a few yuletide treats after looking over the yule goat letters." At Ichabod's questioning look, he said, "Extra stories. Which was actually the other reason I wanted to know if you were familiar with Shakespeare. I need someone to Beta my work and cut the SPAG down."

"Spag?" Ichabod tried the unfamiliar word out and found like most modern words that he did not care for it.

"Grammar and spelling." Captain Irving waved a hand.

"Ah!" Ichabod inclined his head. "Then I would be delighted to aid in this granting of anonymous joy."

Abbie coughed in a mocking sort of way, which he entirely ignored. Jenny was in the midst of calling up her own tale for her sister.

So it was that Ichabod was placed in front of another of these computers and went to the task of reading what the Captain had written. Captain Irving was actually quite skilled with an elegant line of phrasing and his words were even perhaps somewhat arousing. Although Ichabod had no inclinations himself in that direction being wholly devoted to the thoughts of his dear wife, Katrina. Although, once more Ichabod was at war with the computer. He said to it, "I am well familiar with my mother tongue. There is no need to place red lines under the words that I have corrected. They are in the correct spelling."

Captain Irving glanced over his shoulder. "Huh, wouldn't have thought there were two Es in me."

"It is the way that it is supposed to be spelled," said Ichabod who was beginning to feel like a porcupine so often was he forced to raise his bristles.

But Captain Irving shrugged. "Glad I started you with the John Donne/Oberon story. Gives it a certain reality." He nodded and thanked Ichabod for his assistance.

This in no way lessoned the assault of the season, but on Christmas morn, Ichabod was able to think upon the stranger who would receive the work upon which he had given aid and smiled.

 

Addendum

Now some days after Christmas, after surviving Christmas with the ex and attempting (and he thought achieving) some sort of meaningful connection with his daughter, who was already halfway through reading his gift, Washington came home to his empty apartment in Sleepy Hollow. All he had in his future was a fight with the Apocalypse. "Thank God for fic." He settled into the sofa for a good long read.

On the first day back at work, he printed out the story that he had received for Ichabod. Washington was quite excited to have gotten an Epic of Gilgamesh story crossed with the Most Interesting Man in the World, which was both funny and a little poignant. 

Ichabod read it, but asked. "Why does it say that this story is for CherryPie?"

"That's my online name. You don't think I use my actual name. Although," Washington patted the story pages, "it is a reference to my first name." He paused, and coughed. "Washington."

Ichabod's eyes grew wide. "Your first name is Washington!"

"Yeah, I used to go by Wash, but after what happened to Wash on Firefly," Washington took a moment. "I couldn't use it anymore. I am a leaf on the wind. At work, I use my middle name Frank." He sighed.

Ichabod got a sort of stank face expression. "What does Washington have to do with cherry pies? Is it because he had them upon his plantation? He had other fruit trees as well. Would not a mixed fruit be better and more represent the man's egalitarian spirit?"

"Uh, because of the cherry tree he cut down and couldn't lie about it." Washington was sure he was going to regret sharing. Maybe Abbie was right and what happened on the internet should stay on the internet.

"He certainly would not have lied about it. But General Washington would never have cut down a tree unless it was diseased. Why destroy a good fruit tree and if this is in reference to the destruction of a fruit tree, where would the pie come from? Ha!" Ichabod delivered his point with a stern finger.

Washington rolled his eyes. "Here, you should read the one about the planets Venus and Mars getting it on with the comet Ison. It's educational." He printed out another story for Ichabod. 

He knew Ichabod was hooked when he asked for another. Washington returned an evil smile. "You're going to have to read it on the computer. I'm not going to keep printing them."

Which was how they finally got Ichabod to use the internet. 

As he watched Ichabod muttering about perhaps participating next year, Washington said, "Every time a new fan is born, a plot bunny gets its wings," and went to start his recs post.


	2. [Podfic] Oh, Yuletide Goat, For Hooves Brightly Shining

[Listen to this story](http://fresne.podbean.com/mf/play/cfez29/OhYuletideGoat.mp3)  
[Download this story (right click and save)](http://fresne.podbean.com/mf/web/cfez29/OhYuletideGoat.mp3)

**Author's Note:**

> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


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